


Act/React

by Kasuchi



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Porn Battle, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Later, they don't talk about it, but for weeks Jake is startled awake from dreams of cafe-con-leche skin and a hot, insistent mouth on his.</em> Jake likes making Amy laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act/React

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know about Porn Battle, then you're missing out on my favorite fandom event. Go check it out: [Porn Battle XV: The Ides of Porn](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/65746.html). (Obviously NSFW.)
> 
> Prompts: laughter, laughing, tease, shut up

He likes making her laugh, he realizes. 

If he were being honest with himself, he likes getting a reaction out of her, period. Boyle is definitely right; he wants her _attention_ , wants her to look back at him the way it took him a very long time to realize he'd been looking at her. 

So, yes, he doesn't mind making an idiot out of himself if it means he can make her laugh. He'll fall off ladders and make stupid voices and crack bad jokes about New Jersey if it means he gets to see the flash of white teeth before they get hidden behind a dainty brown hand. Jake likes the way she laughs when even she isn't expecting it, the startled sound that is her laughter, higher-pitched than her usual voice. It lights up her whole face and makes him want to make her do that again. 

One morning, he brings her a coffee, because he has some extra cash and why the hell not. He places the vanilla latte on her desk, the cup bearing the red silhouette of a gorilla obstructed by the cardboard sleeve, and she beams, delighted by his small surprise. He feels his stomach bottom out when she turns that megawatt smile on him, thanking him with her eyes shining and her face alight even under the horrible fluorescent lights of the precinct. He mumbles some response, falling into his chair gracelessly and pretends to finish a report, sneaking glances at her when she isn't looking and catching the small smile that lingers on her face the rest of the day. 

Sometimes, when she pulls her hair back into the low bun, a few strands will come loose and brush against her cheek and her jaw, and his own OCD will want to push them back behind her ear for her. So when, while tailing a couple of known enforcers, they hurriedly duck into some small alcove because the two start to get wise to their game of front-and-follow, and Amy's hair starts to come loose, he doesn't try to stop himself, just reaches fingers out across the scant distance between them and pushes the silky strands back away from her face, tucking them behind the whorled shell of her ear with steady hands. 

When the footfalls come closer, she grabs him by the front of his leather jacket and pulls him in for a hell of a kiss, one that makes him feel like every nerve ending is on fire. He sneaks a hand under the tails of her blouse, having tugged it loose, and splays it across her hip, thumb brushing along the ridge of the bone. She curls her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pulls him closer and he learns very quickly that if he touches her just _so_ , she'll gasp into his mouth and maybe he likes that reaction better. His entire focus is her, and he doesn't even hear the ugly chuckling of one of the goons because he's too busy sucking her tongue into his mouth. Amy breaks the kiss and gasps, burying her face into his shoulder and it snaps him back long enough to register that Chuy and Merce are catcalling and commentating on their performance. 

Later, they don't talk about it, but for weeks Jake is startled awake from dreams of cafe-con-leche skin and a hot, insistent mouth on his, the faintest echo of a half-sighed plea in his own name fading with the brightening sunlight.

When the Sarge manages to put a particularly tough, long-game case away, the team celebrates by going out for drinks. The married ones are the first to duck out, Capt. Holt the last holdout. Boyle bows out soon after, citing an early morning trip to the fishmarket with a culinary school, and Gina disappears entirely at some point no one can recall. Rosa gets a text somewhere near midnight, taking the opportunity to bounce and presumably 'bone down' with her paramour. Eventually, it's almost one in the morning and Jake and Amy are the only ones left, seated at the bar together, too many beers in and feeling loose.

"God, what a week," Jake says, rolling his bottle around on the bar top. It makes a _whoom_ kind of sound that he likes. 

Amy stirs her Manhattan and takes a long sip through the tiny red straws. "I was starting to think we'd never close that B&E on 9th Street." 

"And I was getting real tired of chasing down punk-ass kids down side streets."

"Try it in heels," she retorts dryly, knocking back the last couple mouthfuls of her drink. She shakes off the burn and pulls her hair out of its tie, fluffing it idly. Jake feels his mouth go dry and she catches him staring. "What?"

"I like your hair when it's down," he blurts out, setting the bottle down on the bar. "It's all dark and shiny." 

She grins slowly, teeth bright in the low light of the bar. "You think my hair is nice?" There's a teasing note in her voice. 

He nods, because in for a penny, in for a pound. "And your eyes and your mouth, God I can't stop thinking about your mouth, not since we kissed in that alley." He half-drunkenly runs a hand through his hair and toys with the now-empty bottle. 

"Me either," she says quietly but he doesn't hear it. 

"I mean, you're so fuckin' hot, and I think I blocked it out for a while but I just--" 

She shuts him up by standing up and kissing him, her sensible chunky heels forcing him to crane his neck up to meet her mouth while she keeps him seated in the barstool. Blindly, he reaches forward and runs his hands up her sides, along her shoulder blades, pulling her closer and breathing her in. One hand of his tangles in the silky strands of her hair, and tugs gently. She makes an _mmph!_ sound and breaks the kiss and pulls him upright, expression dark and burning. "Let's get outta here." 

He throws down some money in a daze, not caring if it's too little or too much, and follows her out into the street, across tthe block, into a green boro cab that she directs to her house. The ride is short, but he can't stop touching her because if he thinks too hard he'll wuss out, and he suspects she's in the same space. So instead he keeps touching her and starts telling her terrible jokes that make her laugh that brittle laugh she always makes when she's nervous -- he knows because he remembers coaching her through her first trial as a detective and the way she'd loosened up after he'd made some snarky comments about the opposing council. 

So he keeps cracking terrible jokes about perps they chased down recently and the idiots in the apartment complex they'd knocked on doors in (again), makes fun of Charles's weird foodie-ness up all five flights of her walkup, offers to burn the lace doilies on her sofas when they get to her apartment (but while he's pulling off her bra and rolling the peaked tip of one nipple between thumb and forefinger, so any outrage she feels at that one gets lost in a surprised gasp) and into her bedroom. She kicks the door shut behind her and pulls off his shirt even while his mouth keeps running, commenting on how efficiently she divests him of clothes, calling her bossy when she tells him to get naked -- but he complies, he's no moron -- and only shutting up to kiss her and slide his hand into her panties, their bare legs tangling on her quilted bedspread. 

He groans into her mouth when he finds her wet and hot, pushing one finger deep inside of her with ease. "You've been holding out on me, Amy," he says hoarsely, breaking the kiss. 

"Maybe," she says, gasping when he pushes a second digit into her and stretching her. "I told you I haven't been able to stop thinking about that kiss either," she manages to get out, between soft gasps. 

"You've clearly been thinking about more than that kiss." He kisses her again, pushing his tongue in her mouth slightly forcefully as his thumb circles her clit. "I've been wondering what you look like when you come," he murmurs against her mouth.

"So make me," she fires back, grinning.

"You forgot the magic word," he comments mildly. She laughs at that, but it turns into a pleasured sound when he flexes his wrist and her whole body arches off the bed. He can feel her muscles starting to tense. "You're so close. Do you know what I thought about for weeks? You, and that kiss and your tiny little fairy-hands on my back. I imagined fucking you against the wall," he adds, voice dropping down to lower tones, "Your legs wrapped around my waist, your nails digging into my shoulders. I pictured you on top of me, your dark hair down around your shoulders and your amazing breasts bouncing in front of me." He leans forward and takes one umber-colored bud into his mouth and sucks, teeth grazing over the skin. 

"Jake," she half-sighs, half-groans. He sucks again, harder this time, and circles her clit faster, a little harder, moving his fingers in and out of her in rhythm. He pulls his mouth away with an audible _pop_ just as she comes, crying out as her back arches dramatically and her hips stutter as his fingers continue their ministrations, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible. When her inner muscles stop spasming and her breathing slows, he pulls his hand away and pulls off her underwear, tossing it into the dark of her room. Blindly, she reaches for him and pulls him in for what can only be described as a searing kiss. Jake forgets to breathe. 

They make out sloppily, like teenagers, on her bed. She pushes him down and straddles his hips. She tugs off his boxers, him lifting his hips to help her pull them off and, like he did, toss them out into the darkness. He can feel her hand at the base of his cock, positioning him, and he runs his hands up her legs. "Amy," he breathes. "You don't have to--"

"Shut up, Jake," she says instead, and kisses him as she lowers herself onto him fully. Jake doesn't need to be told twice, hands skimming up to massage her breasts as she tries to find a rhythm that she likes. When she does, the click is instant, and she sucks in a deep, hissing breath. He moves his hands from her breasts up her shoulders and into her hair and kisses her some more, the dark curtain of her hair falling across his hands and face. It occurs to him that maybe this is what he likes best about her, that when she decides she wants something, she goes after it with total commitment. And when she writhes against him like _that_ , all his thoughts scatter. 

She has her hands braced on his chest for leverage, and then suddenly she convulses tightly around him. He doesn't even think, just flips them over and thrusts into her, hand between them on her clit in rough strokes. It doesn't take long -- she comes, him swallowing her cries as he pushes for his own release, crashing over the edge as the second wave of hers hits. He breaks the kiss roughly and presses his face into her shoulder until his heart stops racing. 

He rolls off of her and lays on his side next to her, one hand idly drawing loops on her abdomen. She stretches, catlike, and meets his dark gaze with her own. Her eyebrows rise slightly. He half-smiles and dips his chin a fraction, brushing back an errant lock of hair from her face before laying his palm flat against her skin. She beams in response and twines her fingers with his. 

He's definitely got her attention now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hat tip to **Diaphenia** for all her cheering-me-on. 'Cause I extra-super needed it, for realness. ♥
> 
> Also, the coffee Jake brings Amy is from [Gorilla Coffee](http://gorillacoffee.com/), probably one of the best coffee houses in Park Slope, where the Nine-Nine is located. (That is, based on the map in their squadroom.) Their coffee cups are [pretty distinctive](https://twitter.com/gorillacoffee/status/431542792108900352).


End file.
